A Promise Well Kept
by BBCdisney
Summary: Sherlock Holmes was not exactly the best person to be a father, and neither was John Watson. However, when the good doctor finds a little girl in the streets of London with no one, he decides to take her in; not knowing that she is the daughter of the man he will one day call his best friend. Rated T because I'm paranoid. Eventual spoilers for Season 3. (Begins before Season 1).
1. Chapter 1

**Hello there! I really hope you like this story. I'm not really sure where the idea came from, but I don't think it's that bad. Here it is, chapter one of... **

A Promise Well Kept

**By the way, I don't own anything except for my OC's.**

Chapter 1

_He was just riding home in a cab. It was just a normal day. It wasn't a day he would've expected something terrible to happen. So when he turned down his street to see smoke rising in the sky, he was very surprised. He was even more surprised to see his flat going up in flames. The landlord, Charlie, was standing outside; calling for help on his mobile phone. He ran over to Charlie with his heart pounding and his head filled with worry. _

_"What happened?" he demanded as Charlie hung up. "Where are they?" The landlord suddenly looked afraid. _

_"I didn't think they were in," he murmured. "When I smelled the smoke and saw the fire, I just got out. I thought you had all gone out." At Charlie's words, he started running toward the flat; hoping that the landlord was correct in assuming no one was home. He heard a crash and a scream though, and his hopes were destroyed. He ran for the sitting room window on the bottom floor where he lived, and his little girl stumbled toward the window as the room burned around her._

_"Daddy... help!" she choked when she reached the window he was trying to open. _

_"Cover your face with your shirt," he ordered; searching around on the ground for something to break the window with. He spotted a metal pipe that had broken off the side of the building, and he returned to the window as his wife joined his daughter there. She scooped up the little girl, and held her tight._

_She and her husband exchanged a glance, and she backed away from the window so he could break it. He hadn't even made his first swing though when the ceiling collapsed. _

_"Sherlock!" his wife screamed just before he lost sight of her. _

Her scream. Her scream was always what woke him from his nightmares. It made him wake up in a different bed, in a different flat, and at a time where the fire that had taken everything he had was in the distant past.

Sherlock wiped away the tears on his face. He couldn't let anyone see how weak he was. He didn't want anyone to know why he loathed sleep. Not even his nosy brother knew. He couldn't tell Lestrade or Mrs. Hudson or even Molly that the cases and the drugs, the experiments and every other peculiar thing he did was to keep his mind off the horrible day that still tortured him all the time.

Because "bored," really meant "haunted."

_Nine years earlier..._

Her mother had told her to hold tight to her hand. That was all she knew. She didn't know where they were going, but she was scared and cold and her tattered clothes were covered with soot and ashes. "Where's Daddy?" the three-year old asked her mother for the fourth time. The woman sighed. Her daughter had always been very close to her father. She looked down at the little girl, who had her father's piercing eyes and curly dark hair. Then she knelt beside her.

"We can't see Daddy anymore, sweetheart," she murmured. "It's just going to be you and me from now on." The girl rubbed at her eyes with her tiny fist so her mother wouldn't see her cry. She shoved away the image of her father's panic-stricken face outside the window.

"Ok Mummy," she whispered. Her mother scooped her up, and began walking again. They had to get out of the country. Jim was still looking for her. She sighed. She could've never told her husband about all the trouble she had gotten herself into. She was a wonderful liar, and the only person who could ever fool her husband. Suddenly, a black car pulled up on the curb nearby, and laughter came from the alleyway beside her. She held her daughter closer; knowing the voice in the darkness before the figure emerged. He smirked at her.

"Michelle, Michelle," he murmured; still laughing to himself. "You've been a very naughty girl, haven't you?" A large man stepped out of the car, and Michelle pulled her daughter even closer.

"Jim please," she begged the first man. I can pay you back. I just need a little time."

"Sorry. Time's up." Jim yanked the tiny girl from her mother's arms, and each one screamed at the separation. Michelle's scream was cut short though as a bullet went into her back. She fell to the ground in a heap, and the large man dragged her into the alleyway. Jim smiled at the girl as he placed her on the ground beside her dying mother. "Choose your friends carefully little one," he warned. "People are evil in this world." Then, just like that, the car and men were gone.

"V-Violet..." her mother gasped. The three-year old crawled over to Michelle, who gently wiped a tear away from her daughter's cheek. "You'll be ok..." she whispered. "Daddy will find you... I ...I love you..." Then she closed her eyes, and the little girl began to cry. She sat in the dark as the moon moved higher and higher into the sky. She didn't hear another human sound besides her own weeping until her mother was cold to the touch.

Dr. John Watson was not one to stay out very late. He only had one more month in London though, and was lucky to be allowed that long. He didn't have many friends, so it was odd that he had stayed out late walking that night. Something gave him the urge to stroll under the stars though. John glanced down at his watch. It was almost midnight, and he decided to head back home. That was when he heard the crying. It was a child, and the doctor and soldier in him told him that this was not a situation to just pass by. He moved closer to the sound, and didn't stop until he saw a woman's pale hand sticking out of a dark alleyway. He crouched down quickly next to the woman to take her pulse, but her skin was white as a sheet and cold. He put two of his fingers on the side of her neck anyway, but the woman was obviously gone. She had been dead for hours.

Then John suddenly realized he could still hear the crying. He whirled around to find a tiny girl cowering behind a box. When their eyes met she ducked down, and he felt like his heart had cracked in two. The child was afraid. She had probably seen what had happened. He stood and stepped cautiously toward the girl. "It's all right," he murmured into the darkness. "I'm not here to hurt you." All of a sudden, he was directly in front of her, and she curled up into a trembling ball against the box. John didn't know much about children. He had been the youngest in his family, but he did know they preferred to see adults at eye level. He crouched down again, and held out his hand. "I won't hurt you," he promised her again. "I just want to help you."

The little girl inched closer; remembering Jim's words. The man in front of her had a kind face and a soft gaze though. His outstretched hand was palm up, so she knew he had no intention of grabbing her. The man bit his lip as she looked up into his eyes. He was trying to think of a way to coax her out into the open. He wanted to make sure she wasn't hurt. "My name is John," he whispered. "Can you tell me your name?" The three-year old nodded slowly, and she moved a little closer. Now John could see the dark thick curls that framed her face. He was surprised. He could tell she was the dead woman's child, but she didn't resemble her mother all that much. She glanced over at her mother, and more tears welled up in her eyes.

"My name is Violet," she stammered. Then she began to sob profusely. John gently reached out to touch her shoulder. Then she jumped up and embraced him; knocking him backwards to sit on the ground. Violet wrapped both her arms and legs around John's middle, and cried into his jumper. He hesitated at first, but he felt that the little girl had put her trust in him so he put his arms around her.

"Shh," he whispered; stroking her hair. "I've got you. You're safe." John shifted the child in his lap, and pulled out his phone; realizing that it was a good thing his sister had forced him to get one. He called the police, and when he hung up, he pulled off his jumper. He shivered. His button-down shirt was thin, but he knew Violet needed it more than he did. He pried her off of him for a moment, and held up the jumper for her to see. She seemed to understand, and held up her arms so he could slip it over her head. He almost smiled at how tiny she was compared to his jumper, but he knew the situation was not something to smile about. Violet sniffed one more time, and wiped her eyes with the sleeve.

She sat quiet in John's lap. She wouldn't meet his eyes, and she looked ashamed of herself. "Hey," John murmured; lifting her chin. "Everything will be ok." He brushed away the last remnants of her tears with his thumb.

"You're nice," Violet replied quietly. She seemed about to say something else, but was interrupted by the sirens of the police cars. She buried her face in his chest again, and held on tight. "Don't let them take me away," she begged. John didn't know what to say, so he just held her again.

"I won't," he finally whispered as an officer approached them. "I promise."


	2. Chapter 2

**I own nothing except OCs.**

Chapter 2

_Nine years later... _

Violet always knew that John was a man of his word. He had always kept every promise he ever made her. What she didn't understand, was why the one he broke was the one most important to her. The one that kept her going every day. The promise that he made to keep himself safe in Afghanistan. She opened his last letter to her again. It had been written in a hurry, and held none of the same careful thoughts and feelings that he had always put in his letters. She was twelve, and John had been her legal guardian long enough for her to know that something was seriously wrong. The letter read:

_Dear Violet, I'm sorry. I know there's really no excuse for me to have taken so long to answer your letter, but we were moved to a new camp recently, and the chaos that entailed just caused me to keep putting it off. I'm sorry. I hope you're doing well. How are the other girls treating you? I hope you've made a few friends. It's always good to have friends even if you don't have many. I can't write anymore. I'm sorry. I have to get back to work. Just know that I love you, and everything will be ok. - John_

_"Just know that I love you, and everything will be ok."_ She could hear his voice in her head. It was something he always told her, and he wrote it at the end of all of his letters. She couldn't believe it this time though; because everything was not going to be ok. Her world was collapsing around her, and it couldn't be put back together. She remembered how she had ended up in her situation as she pulled out the second envelope. The letter she knew would be cold and generic, and would provide no comfort to her. It would give her words of false hope. "Missing In Action" did not necessarily mean "Killed In Action," but it was close enough for Violet.

_"Stay safe, and come back alive," Violet said to John as he was about to board the plane bound for Afghanistan. "That's all I want." John smiled and put his hand on her cheek._

_"I will," he said. Then he kissed the top of her head. "I promise."_

Violet let her body slide to the floor against the wall. She bit her lip. She wasn't going to cry yet. It would mean that she had admitted defeat. That she believed he would never come back. That he was dead like her mother and Mrs. Johnson.

_Mrs. Johnson laughed as she poured Violet a cup of tea, and Violet couldn't help but smile. The elderly woman was always so kind to her during all the months when John wasn't home, and even more happy when he was. She saw him as a son, and she had given them a special deal on the rent for the flat they lived in. Mrs. Johnson devoted all her time to them as if they were her children, so it was almost no surprise to Violet that the little old lady would be willing to give up her life for her. She just wished she hadn't. Violet didn't know it would be the last time she would here Mrs. Johnson laugh. _

_"I'll go get some biscuits," Mrs. Johnson said. She shuffled to the kitchen in her slippers smiling, but when she looked out the window beside the door she dropped the biscuit she was holding. She hurried back into the room, and grabbed Violet by the arm. She held her finger to her lips, and led Violet up the stairs as quickly and silently as possible. "Listen to me," she whispered with intensity. "You go through John's bedroom, and you climb out the window, and run. Don't stop running until you've reached Scotland Yard. You don't have time to stop and call them." She started pushing her toward John's room._

_"Wait, why?" Violet protested in a stage whisper. Mrs. Johnson's expression softened, and she gently tucked a bit of Violet's hair behind her ear. _

_"I care about you, and I don't want you to get hurt." Violet shook her head. She didn't understand. Then Mrs. Johnson pushed her into John's room, and locked the door before she could put up further protests. Violet called out to her, but then she heard the sound of a door breaking. Then came the unfamiliar footsteps of what she knew had to be a man. "Who are you?" Mrs. Johnson demanded loudly. "What do you want?" Then Violet understood. Mrs. Johnson had seen a weapon on the man's person, and hid Violet away so she wouldn't get hurt. _

_"Where's the little girl?" a gruff voice demanded back. "I know someone who's looking for her." _

_"What little girl?" _

_"Don't play dumb old lady," another voice cut in. "We know she lives here."_

_"I haven't the slightest idea of what you're talking about." All was silent for a minute, and Violet could feel the tension coming from the floor below her. _

_"All right then," the first man said. "Then we'll just have to find her ourselves." Suddenly, there was a gunshot, and Violet screamed involuntarily. Then she covered her mouth with her hands. That was exactly what the criminals had wanted her to do. _

_"Why'd you kill her?" the second man asked. "We could've used her to get the girl to come down." _

_"We know where she is though," the first replied. Violet backed away from the door. Their voices were drawing near, and the grief she felt for the sudden loss of Mrs. Johnson was replaced with adrenaline. She had to get out. She ran to the bed, and tied a sheet the bed-post. Then she tied two more sheets from the closet to the first, and dragged the bed to the window. That was when the door handle started to move. "Don't try to run!" the first man called. "Jim doesn't like it when people run!" Violet grabbed the edge of her makeshift rope, and jumped out the open window. She had a feeling she knew who "Jim" was, and she didn't want to go anywhere near him._

_She slid down quickly as she lost her grip, but she managed to regain it a few feet above the ground. Then she let go, and did exactly what Mrs. Johnson had told her to do. She ran, and she didn't stop until two miles later when she reached Scotland Yard. After telling her story to a very confused detective, Detective Inspector Lestrade as he introduced himself to be, she was taken back to her flat in a police car. _

_They found Mrs. Johnson's body, and paperwork was signed and filed, calls were made to the military, who eventually got to John, and Violet was rushed back to the Yard for further questioning, and a brief phone conversation with John. Finally, she found herself in the car with the Detective Inspector again, who escorted her to the children's home she would have to stay in until John returned in a month. He didn't return in a month though._

It wasn't until after the month was up, and no one had heard anything from John that the two envelopes made their way to the children's home. A man in full military uniform had placed the letters in her hands with pity in his eyes. Violet didn't want his pity though. She wanted John. She wanted him to tell her that everything would be ok. She wanted to see him wearing his ridiculous jumpers, instead of them folded up in a box for storage.

She ripped open the second letter, and skimmed over the typed out letter of condolence. The letter explained vaguely the mysterious disappearance of Captain John Watson and eight other soldiers. After she read the letter, Violet tore it in half and left it on her bed. The letter claimed that there were people searching for the missing soldiers. She knew it wasn't true though. The look in the man's eyes as he handed her the letters had told her so. He pitied her because he knew they weren't looking for John.

Violet stood up, looked around her room, and then dashed down the stairs and out the back door. One of the women who ran the home called her name, but she didn't turn back. She scaled the fence, and kept running; just like Mrs. Johnson had told her.

She only ran a mile away. She would've run farther like she normally did, but she couldn't see herself going any longer this time. She walked over to the closest building she could see, and sat down leaned up against the wall with her knees drawn up to her chest. Violet glared angrily at the stars above her. It wasn't fair. She had already lost almost everyone important to her. She couldn't bear to lose John. He was basically like both parents to her, and without him, she had nowhere to turn. "Come and get me!" she cried out. She wanted the men who were looking for her to find her. She wanted _someone _to find her. "I'm right here! Come and get me!" That was when Violet realized she was crying. A tiny voice inside her had been battling the tears; telling her that there was still hope, but the voice had lost the war in her mind. All the horrible scenarios she could possibly conjure up in her imagination filled her head, and she hugged herself tight and closed her eyes.

Sherlock folded his arms to show Lestrade just how cross he was with him. He was sitting in the front seat of the inspector's police car, and the man was taking him home because he didn't trust him on his own. "I told you, I'm clean," the consulting detective complained; shifting uncomfortably in his seat. "I bet this was my brother's idea, wasn't it?"

"Sherlock, for the last time: I have only met your brother once. He's not conspiring against you." The D.I. wouldn't admit it to Sherlock, but he was worried about him. His landlady had said she could hear him up at all hours of the night, and she rarely saw the man who was thin as a rail to begin with, eat. "You've got to start taking better care of yourself." Sherlock snorted in indignation.

"What does it matter? There's no point." Lestrade sighed. Sherlock bit his tongue; realizing that was the wrong thing to say. It was the truth though. When there were no cases, he didn't know how he was surviving. He was forever internally connected with his hidden grief, and he didn't know how to break that connection. So he made himself distant. He didn't make friends. He didn't want to feel anymore loss. They both remained silent after that until Lestrade's phone started to ring. The D.I. held his finger to his lips, and pressed a button on his steering wheel.

"Detective Inspector Lestrade," he said. The voice on the other end could be heard throughout the car, and the voice sighed with relief.

"I'm so glad you picked up," a woman's voice said. Lestrade rolled his eyes in recognition of the voice.

"Not again Mrs. Hopkins," he groaned. Sherlock raised his eyebrows at him; suddenly curious.

"I'm sorry to trouble you again, and I know it's not really part of your job. She knows you though, and a child with her sort of...problems needs to see a familiar face." Lestrade sighed again. "Would you mind finding her?"

"I'm on my way, Mrs. Hopkins. Don't worry." Then he pressed another button, and rubbed his temple. "You're just going to have to sit tight for a while Sherlock," he said. "There is something important I need to do." Sherlock just nodded. He knew that a child had run away from home, but he suddenly wanted to know more.

"Who is the girl we're looking for?"

"It's complicated."

"I'm sure it's not."

"She's a twelve-year old girl who stays in the local children's home. Her mother was murdered right in front of her when she was three, and a military doctor took her in. God only knows where her father is. When the doctor was away she stayed with their landlady, who was also murdered for trying to protect her a month ago. She has PTSD, most likely because of what I just told you. And now that she has to stay in the home while the doctor's still gone she runs away all the time. The only person she trusts besides the doctor is me, so I always have to go find her. " Lestrade stopped at a traffic light, and turned to face the detective beside him with an intense look in his eyes. "You will not speak to her. You will not deduce her because I already told you enough about her. Don't even _look _at her. Because so help me God, if you hurt her, I swear I will break your nose." Then he faced the road again, and when the traffic light changed he kept driving.

Sherlock just leaned back in his seat in stunned silence. He had never heard Lestrade talk so sternly, or even utter so many phrases in one sitting. He cleared his throat. "What makes you think I would hurt her?" he asked. The D.I. huffed in frustration.

"Have you listened to yourself lately. Knowing you, you will say something horrible to the girl. She doesn't deserve that. She's been through far too much already. She doesn't need some stranger who thinks he's a genius telling her her whole life's story." Lestrade didn't say another word. He turned down street after street until they saw what looked to be a girl sitting up against a building. He pulled over and put his head in his hands. "She never goes far," he mumbled under his breath. Then he got out, and Sherlock watched as he approached the figure with the long dark curly hair.

Violet knew the footsteps of the Inspector very well. He was always sent to find her. She had already run away four times. This was her fifth, and she had only been there a month. "I knew you'd show up," she whispered. "I just thought maybe this time you'd show up to investigate a murder scene." The D.I. knelt down next to her. He remembered the murderers who had tried to get to her when her old landlady was killed.

"You can't keep doing this," he replied. "...What was it this time?"

"He's missing," she murmured. "No one knows where he is." Lestrade put his head back in his hands. Of course the man who had been like a father to her for years would go missing. Her life seemed to be just one disaster after another.

"I'm sorry."

"Will your sympathy bring him back?" she cried in outrage. "The man who brought the letters looked sorry. The letters said 'sorry,' and now you're saying you're sorry."

"Isn't that the normal reaction people have?"

"I don't _want _anyone's sympathy. I want John!" She sat up straight and tall as she said this, and her eyes were so filled with anger that he almost backed away. Then she suddenly seemed to shrink back into herself; breathing heavily as she fully grasped the situation. "His unit was ambushed. They found everyone except for nine people... Nine bodies unaccounted for. NINE! Why did he have to be one of them? Why couldn't he have been there? Why did it have to be him!" She sobbed without tears; trying desperately to catch her breath. Lestrade gently pulled her into his embrace. He had never hugged her before, but he suddenly felt like she needed someone to hold her together.

"Come on," he eventually whispered. "We need to get you back home." She nodded, and let him help her to her feet and lead her to the car. No one spoke the whole way back to the children's home. Sherlock kept stealing glances into the rearview mirror, but the girl seemed to be hiding within her long hair as if it was a veil. When they arrived, Lestrade got out and opened her door. She didn't move.

"You know what the worst part is," she mumbled. "Everyone seems to be looking for me, but no one's looking for him." That was when she started to cry. Sherlock clenched his fists. He couldn't hear children cry. He could barely stand to be around them. It reminded him too much of the child he no longer had. Lestrade placed his hand on the back of her head. Sherlock watched them for a moment through the mirror; wondering what each one was thinking. He knew the army doctor was missing, and as Lestrade finally led her away, her words echoed in his head. _"I don't want your sympathy. I want John!" _He suddenly felt connected to the little girl. He didn't want anyone's sympathy. All he ever wanted was for his wife and his daughter to be alive.

**Sorry. I'm not feeling too good about his chapter, and it was really long in my opinion. This will get better! Please leave a review! Thanks.**


	3. Chapter 3

**This one is pretty short. The next one will be longer though. I guarantee. I hope you like this. Please leave a review. I feel like some improvements could be made. Thanks.**

**I own nothing except for my OCs.**

Chapter 3

It wasn't until a week later that a third letter arrived. Violet was hesitant to open it, but the man who handed it to her had given her a crooked smile. It was good news. It had to be. She ran up to her room to read the letter; not really caring that the other children were staring at her. She quickly opened the letter, and read through it. Then she slid down against the wall in relief. John was alive. He was one of five survivors who were found by American soldiers. Violet's smile disappeared.

The letter had said that all nine people had been found, but only five had lived. Four men were still dead, and four families would get a very different letter from hers. She suddenly felt guilty for being so happy, but she shook it off and kept reading. He was coming in another week, permanently. Then panic built up inside of her, and she started imagining all the reasons he wouldn't have to go back. It frightened her. _What if he wasn't the same? What if something horrible had happened? _The twelve-year old shook those thoughts away too, but they haunted her in her nightmares for the rest of the week.

On the morning she was supposed to meet John at the airport, her fears fully caught up with her. Her heart was pounding and her hands were shaking as she packed up her clothes, and her body continued to betray her in this way as she went downstairs with her bag slung over her shoulder. She was slipping into her boots when Mrs. Hopkins walked over to her. "Violet," she said; sounding hesitant. "I'm sorry I can't see you off. I have some important work to do today, and I can't bring you to the airport." Violet stood up and shrugged. She hadn't spoken to Mrs. Hopkins, or anyone, much since her arrival. She wasn't attached to the children's home. She had made certain of that. Mrs. Hopkins cleared her throat. "I called Inspector Lestrade though. He said he would give you a ride." Violet just nodded; getting tired of having to talk to Mrs. Hopkins. The woman bit her lip. Then she leaned over, and gave Violet a hug. After that, she went back to the kitchen; to the work she had pretended to have.

Violet could tell when someone was lying most of the time. She could catch the little signs in the way people spoke and moved. She could also see that Mrs. Hopkins wasn't wearing her wedding ring, but had on all her other jewelry and a new dress. She had met Mr. Hopkins. He wasn't a bad man, but his wife still had a lover; possibly more than one, but she couldn't be sure. Violet went outside to sit on the front steps. Mrs. Hopkins was lucky her husband wasn't home. If he had been, Violet would've told him.

"You ready to go?" Lestrade asked her as he opened the front gate. He smiled at her as she got in the back seat, and soon they were off. Apparently he didn't share her fears. She started shaking again, but she wasn't really sure if she had stopped to begin with. She didn't realize her trembling was visible until they stood with other families who were waiting and Lestrade put his hand on her shoulder. The door opened in front of them, and men in military uniform entered the room. Violet watched their happy reunions with their wives, and some with their children. She knew which ones had been unfaithful to their wives in their absence, and she knew which wives had done the same. She saw the ones who had haunted looks in their eyes; as if they had seen things that they could never forget. Each soldier had a story, and she knew them all.

The distraction of the soldiers wasn't enough anymore. Her heart began to pound. She still hadn't spotted John. Lestrade made her sit down because she was making him nervous. That was when she noticed him. He stood by the door; his gaze wandering over the crowd as he looked for her. Violet jumped up, and shoved past people until she stood in front of him. They just took each other in for a moment.

John seemed tired, and there was a healing cut on his temple that she knew had come from the butt of a gun. His left hand had tremors running through it, and the way he stood told her he had been shot in the shoulder. She glanced quickly at the cane in his right hand, but he wasn't holding it as if he needed it. She didn't realize he did until he took a few steps to close the distance between them. He leaned on it heavily, and she could see the sadness in his eyes. She could see all his pain through his eyes, and it made her begin to cry. He reached out to comfort her, but before he could she had wrapped her arms around his middle. She buried her face in his chest; taking in his familiar smell and concealing her tears. She felt him put his left arm around her; his hand suddenly still, and then the kiss he placed on top of her head. As she felt his tears hit her hair and his grip tighten, she knew he had been afraid of what she would think of him. Everything would be all right though. He had come back, and that was all she could ask for.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

John sat up gasping in his bed. He wondered if his nightmares would become as bad as Violet's, who oftentimes woke up screaming. He hadn't experienced that yet, and he hoped he never would. John let himself drop back down onto the covers, and closed his eyes as he tried to calm himself down. He had been home for a month and a half, but he still felt like he would wake up in a tent in the desert one morning, and the whole thing would have been a dream. He wouldn't have gotten shot. He would still be there, and he didn't know if he was grateful he wasn't or longing to go back.

"John?" Violet said timidly. He sighed and looked up at her. He didn't want her to know how much he was suffering, but he couldn't hide anything from her. She had a way of seeing right through people. She told him his limp was psychosomatic, and he knew she was right. He had not confirmed it though. Instead he lied, and told her he had fallen on his leg. He didn't want her to think he was an emotional wreck. That was it though. They were both emotional wrecks, and they needed each other. John sat up and took the cup of tea she was holding out to him. She sat down on the edge of the bed. "It's the thought that counts, you know," she added as John set the still full cup on the bedside table.

"I'm sorry," he murmured. "Thank you, but ...I'm just not in the mood for tea."

"You always have tea in the morning though." John glanced out the window. The sun was just appearing over the London rooftops. He wished they could have a better view of the sunrise, but they were barely getting by on his army pension. He would have to find someone to share a flat with at some point. They couldn't continue like this for much longer.

"I'm sorry," he said again. There was a moment of silence between them, but John knew that she would ask him the same question she always asked when he woke from his nightmares.

"Why won't you tell me what happened?"

"I already told you 'why.' You're growing up too fast already. You've skipped two grade levels of that... internet school you do. There are plenty things in this world you already know that someone your age shouldn't, and I don't plan on making that list any longer by adding war."

"Three."

"What?"

"I skipped three grades."

"I suppose I don't also need to mention that you are probably the biggest smart-ass to ever walk the earth." Violet laughed, and John smiled at her; glad to have turned their conversation around. He grabbed his cane, and walked over to the bathroom so he could get dressed. "I'm going out. If you get your schoolwork done while I'm gone I'll let you pick what you want for dinner." Violet nodded, and by the time John was walking out the door she was already doing work on his laptop. He left.

Violet turned off the laptop the second the door clicked closed, and pulled her bag out from under the couch that served as her bed. She had refused to let John take the couch. She pulled out the clothes she had bought from a homeless woman she met once, and put them on. She laughed to herself because she knew John wouldn't see through her disguise. Then she bolted down the fire escape, and ran around the back of the building they lived in. She knew the park that he liked to walk in, so she found a spot near a bench along the sidewalk. An overweight man dropped some money into the can she was holding out, and she waved at him without lifting her head. The man sat on the nearby bench, and didn't move until John limped past. Then the man called out to him, and John turned around and shook his hand. The man's name was Mike Stamford. He had a loud and jovial voice, and he seemed like a good friend of John's.

Violet shifted her position across the sidewalk so she would be closer to the bench. Two more people gave her some money, and she almost laughed. She had picked a good spot. John and Mike walked past her, and John gemtly put a few coins into her hand. His heart was too kind to just drop or throw something at her. She waved at him too as he and Mike sat on the bench.

She released a breath she didn't realize she had been holding. John had hesitated in walking away, and she hoped he didn't suspect her. She could hear the two men talking, so she silently moved closer again. She heard their whole conversation. "Who would want me for a flatmate?" John suddenly asked; addressing a subject that he had spoken to Violet about before.

"You're the second person to say that to me today," Mike replied.

"Who was the first?" Mike just smirked, and he motioned for John to follow him. Then they were gone. Violet contemplated staying in the park or following them, but she knew it would be best if she went home. She may have been what most people would call a troublemaker, but one thing she hated doing was upsetting John. Besides, she wanted to pick their dinner.

John stood in the elevator, absolutely dumbstruck. The man he had met earlier was so intriguing and strange that he didn't know what to think. The tall man with the dark curls had told him things about his life that only Violet knew, and had told him to meet him the next day so they could look at a flat. John was still in awe of the experience as he opened his door, so it took him a minute to notice Violet. "What are you doing?" he asked the twelve-year old when he saw her hanging upside down off the front of the couch. Her feet her were propped up on the wall behind the couch, and her blankets and pillow were strewn about the room. With her eyes closed, her head was suspended inches above the floor, and the rest of her was splayed out on the couch. She brought her hands to her face in a prayer-like position before answering.

"Bored," she mumbled in response.

"You're going to get a headache." Violet turned over onto her stomach, and slid down face-first onto the floor. John rolled his eyes at the groan she emitted from her position on the floor.

"Booooooorrrred," she drawled. John sat down at the tiny desk they had, and switched on his laptop; ignoring her. She tended to be a drama queen. After a few minutes of checking his email and such, he heard her get up. "Can I skip another gra-"

"No." Violet groaned again, and let herself fall forward on the bed. She started speaking; but her voice was muffled by John's pillow. "I can't understand you like that Violet, and _you're_ going to remake the bed when you get up." She flipped over.

"But I'm so bored with this grade, and they changed the website so I can't work ahead," she whined. "Why do I have to learn all this stuff anyway?"

"You need an education so you don't end up homeless on the streets."

"But homeless people make the best spies."

"What do you mean?" Violet sat up, looked straight at John, and repeated back to him the entire conversation he had had with Mike Stamford in the park. She figured she might as well tell him.

"Thanks for the money by the way," she added. Then she went on; completely unphased by the look John was giving her. "You see, you _saw _me, but you didn't really _notice _me. You didn't notice that I had moved closer to the bench, or even when you put the money into my hand. You didn't notice that my nails were too clean-cut and my hands to clean to be a real homeless woman. Most people wouldn't catch that though, so don't feel bad." She grinned at him, and decided to have a little more fun. "Clearly after you left the park you went to the hospital with your friend. You smell of the type of disinfectant they use in hospitals. Since he was an old friend he probably took you to see that lab at St. Bart's that you used to work in. I can also assume that you met a man named Sherlock Holmes because you typed him into the search bar on your laptop. He must be a very peculiar man for you to want to research him, and he must want you to share a flat with him. You're researching him because you're either being cautious, curious, or both. Did I get anything wrong?"

John leaned back in his chair. Then an odd thought crossed his mind that would bother him for the next two nights. Violet had only known her mother's first name, and she didn't know her father's name. She had always, when necessary, put down her last name as Watson, and he wondered if she really didn't know her real last name or if she had chosen not to tell it to anyone. Sherlock Holmes had eyes identical to Violet's, and his hair was a mess of dark, brown curls just like hers. They could each read people in a matter of seconds, and there were plenty of other similarities. "Does the name sound familiar to you?" John asked casually. He decided to wait to discuss his concerns with her, but he wanted to know if she knew the man first. Violet thought for a minute, and then shook her head.

"I think I would remember a name like that," she answered. "It's not a name you would see every day." John just nodded. Then he told that he was meeting the man the next day to look at a flat. "Please let me go with you," Violet begged. "I'll be so bored while you're gone."

"You're going to be have to be bored then."

"Why?" By way of an answer, John opened up the other tab he had open on the internet. "Oh." Her school website showed she had fallen behind a little ways. "Nothing ever changes," she murmured; outwardly accepting her boring life. On the inside though, her brain was running around screaming that it needed something new to grasp its attention. Violet knew that John was bored with their life too. He just didn't want to admit it._ Maybe their new flatmate would lead an interesting life; one that they could join in on. _With that thought in mind, she helped John research Sherlock Holmes. The name felt familiar somewhere in the back of her mind, but she wouldn't tell John that. For some reason, she felt like she had to keep it a secret.

**Hope you liked it. Please review. I own nothing except my OC.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Hello again! I am so sorry this took so long. Thanks for reading and reviewing this story. Please leave more reviews. They don't have to be positive if there's something you don't like about this story. Ok. I own nothing except my OC.**

Chapter 5

There was something interesting about John Watson that Sherlock couldn't quite put his finger on. At first, the man had seemed ordinary, which he was for the most part. However, something made him want to know more about the army doctor. He was fascinating in a strange way, and Sherlock wondered why the man hadn't been put off by his deductions in the lab. Sherlock couldn't help but grin as his cab pulled up to 221B Baker Street. The doctor was standing in front of the door waiting for him.

"Hello," Sherlock called as he paid the cabbie.

"Mr. Holmes," John greeted back politely. Sherlock shot him a cheeky grin as he informed him that it was ok to call him by his first name. With a little discussion, and a short anecdote about Mrs. Hudson, the two of them were inside the flat. Once they arrived in the sitting room, John couldn't help but notice how the room was in such disarray. There were boxes and papers and science equipment everywhere. John, not wanting to seem impolite, simply said: "Well, this could be very nice."

"Yes," Sherlock agreed. "Yes, I think so, my thoughts precisely. So I went straight ahead and moved in." Sherlock's last statement overlapped into John's.

"Soon as we get this rubbish cleaned up." The two men exchanged a glance, and Sherlock, sensing John's slight embarrassment and not wanting to display his own, starting moving about the room and picking up a few things. They continued to talk awkwardly until Mrs. Hudson chimed in.

"What do you think, then, Dr. Watson?" she asked hopefully. "There's another bedroom upstairs, if you'll be needing two bedrooms." John gave the landlady a strange look.

"Of course we'll be needing two." Mrs. Hudson waved him off gently.

"Oh, don't worry, there's all sorts round here." Then, in an added whisper, "Mrs. Turner next door's got married ones." As she moved away, John remembered what he had been meaning to say.

"Actually Mrs. Hudson," he began. "You wouldn't happen to have a third bedroom, would you?" The landlady seemed confused, so John explained. "I have a-" He hesitated. John wasn't sure what he would call Violet to him. She wasn't his daughter, even though she acted like it. "I have a twelve-year old girl who I took in off the streets a long time ago, and-"

"Oh!" Mrs. Hudson cried happily. "Yes of course. The only other room is next to the one upstairs. It was really meant to be a room for storing things, but she can have it." John smiled and thanked Mrs. Hudson, who seemed to be overjoyed at the prospect of another female presence in her flat. Sherlock on the other hand, was not so happy. His own daughter would have been about twelve. He swallowed hard as he continued to straighten the room. _Idiot. Why hadn't he been able to tell the doctor had a daughter? How could he miss something so important? _That was when Sherlock remembered something.

_I don't want anyone's sympathy. I want John! _The girl's words seemed to get louder and louder in his head, and it took Sherlock a few seconds to register that he had been crushing the piece of paper in his hand. He let it drop back into a box. John Watson was the missing soldier.

"Of course," Sherlock breathed in a tone that was barely audible. John had heard him though.

"Did you say something?" he asked from the chair he had sunk into.

"No," Sherlock replied without turning around. "Nothing at all."

_A few hours later..._

Violet pulled her knee-length black coat close around her as she headed out the door. It was a chilly night, and somehow having a coat to conceal herself in made her feel safer. A coat of course couldn't protect her, and she was reminded of this when she noticed a man following her. That was when the phone booths started ringing. Each would ring as if waiting for her as she passed them. She moved quickly; frightened yet exhilarated by the situation. Finally, when she seemed to have turned enough corners to escape her stalker, another nearby phone booth started ringing. Violet gave in, and picked up the receiver. "Who are you?" She thought for a moment; thinking of the only person who she had ever known to send someone after her. "Do you work for Jim?"

"No," a silky, smug voice answered. "I do not. However, I would very much like to meet you so please, get into the car that is about to park beside you." Sure enough, the second after the words left the stranger's lips, a car pulled up. A tall man stepped out and held the door to the back seat open for her.

"If I refuse?"

"Let's just say you can't."

"I wouldn't count on that." Violet dropped the receiver, and got out of the phone booth. She began to run immediately but she hadn't gotten far when a pair of strong arms wrapped around her middle. "No!" she screamed. "Let go!" No was around to hear her cries though as she was shoved into the car. The man who had grabbed her got in right after her, and pinned her to him with his arms so she couldn't get away. As the car traveled farther away from her home Violet stopped fighting, and watched the world pass by. She calmed herself. There were two possible outcomes if she didn't try to get away. She would either be killed or released because she was allowed to see where she was going.

They drove on until they reached an old building, and the car was parked right inside. As she was released to get out she turned to try to escape, but the man suddenly towered over her again. "I would cooperate at this point if I were you," the silky voice warned. She whirled around to face the speaker.

"Who _are _you?" she asked him again. He pointed to a nearby metal chair with his umbrella.

"Sit down and I'll tell you." Violet stepped hesitantly to the chair as if it would strike out at her. Then she sat down; thinking of how scared she probably looked. The man grinned at her. "That would've been much easier if you hadn't put up a fight."

"Wouldn't you try to make it hard if you were being kidnapped off the street."

"I suppose I would." The man swung his umbrella around as he walked around her chair. Violet could feel his icy stare on her, and it took all her will power to keep from shuddering as he moved back in front of her. He gazed at her face for a moment, and she couldn't be sure, but she thought his eyes looked sad. "What is your name?"

"Don't you know that already?"

"I meant your last name. You are known by the few people you do know as Violet Watson, but I know that's not your real name." This time, she did shudder. She didn't like the idea of the stranger standing before her knowing anything about her. Detecting her fear, he smiled again. "You don't know, do you?" Violet avoided his gaze and stared at the floor. "I suppose you wouldn't since you were so young when your mother was killed." She jumped up.

"What is this about?" she demanded. "What do you want from me?" The man shrugged.

"I was just curious about you. Now do sit down before I become cross with you." She obeyed bitterly; dropping down into the chair and folding her arms. "Who is this 'Jim' you thought I worked for? Is he the one who sent those men who killed your landlady; your mother? Or is he perhaps your father and you don't want to tell me?" Violet glared at him. She had had enough.

"All I ever need to tell you is that you are a despicable human being, and that you think you can do whatever you want because you hold a position in government. Of course, you usually get away with quite a lot, like kidnapping people, and you're not used to being told you can't have what you want. Now you must be related to Sherlock Holmes because you haven't bothered with me until we met him. Judging by the look on your face, I'm correct. You're a bit overweight, but you don't look too old, so I'm going to assume you're his brother and call you Mr. Holmes even though that is a sign of respect you do not deserve. And when I say you don't deserve it I mean it, Mr. Holmes because you were so kind to remind me that my mother was murdered right in front of me. Thank you, very much Mr. Holmes."

As her last sarcastic words left her mouth, Violet leaned back in her chair. She wanted to try to make a run for one of the doors she could see, but she also knew that she wouldn't be able to get past the tall man standing behind her chair. The man she had now dubbed as Mr. Holmes stared at her in utter shock for a few seconds. Then he shook his head, and motioned to the man behind her. Suddenly, both of her arms were grabbed. She screamed and fought till she got one free, but the man pulled it back and eventually had her hands tied behind her back. "What do you want from me?" she shouted as the man lifted her up and set her on her feet.

"For now, I want you out of the way," Mr. Holmes said. He seemed to have recovered, but she could still see the fear and sadness in his eyes. "I don't want you interfering with my chat with Dr. Watson." The man threw Violet over his shoulder, and carried her off into another room. As they were going, she yelled back to Mr. Holmes.

"John won't listen to you!" she cried. "Whatever you want him to do, he won't do it!" Then the door closed, and the tall man dropped her on the floor. She made a move to crawl away, but he took hold of her shoulders and a few moments later he had tied a cloth around her mouth. Then he stood her up again, and held onto her bound hands so she couldn't get away. Violet fought for another minute or so, but froze when she heard the voices outside the door. One of them was John's. She strained to listen, but she couldn't make out a single word. They were too far away.

Then the man stood and led Violet over to the door. He put his ear up against it with a look of anticipation on his face. He was looking for a moment to reenter the room. Violet stopped fighting and put her head up against the door too. Her curiosity had gotten the better of her.

"Are we done?" John asked; a tone of exasperation in his voice.

"You tell me,"was Mr. Holmes' reply. Suddenly the man flipped her over his shoulder and opened the door as she heard John walking away. She was carried to the chair before he turned around at Mr. Holmes' next remark. "I imagine people have already warned you to stay away from him, but I can see from your left hand that's not going to happen." At that, John froze.

"My w-" John stopped himself from finishing his sentence. Violet was seated in the chair, and the tall man behind her was holding her down by her shoulders so she couldn't get up. Despite his grip, she struggled to get to John, who moved toward her as quickly as he could. Mr. Holmes blocked his path though.

"Show me," he ordered quietly. John glanced between Violet and Mr. Holmes. Then he held up his hand with a sigh. After a brief moment of hesitation, Mr. Holmes inspected John's hand. "Remarkable."

"What is?"

"Most people blunder round this city and all they see are streets and shops and cars. When you walk with Sherlock Holmes, you see the battlefield. You've seen it already, haven't you?"

"What's wrong with my hand?"

"You have an intermittent tremor in your left hand. Your therapist thinks it's post-traumatic stress disorder. She thinks you're haunted by memories of your military service."

"Who the hell are you?" John demanded quietly. His voice seemed more menacing, and Violet could feel the anger radiating from him. "How do you know that?" Mr. Holmes waved a dismissive hand at the man behind her, and he leaned down to free her hands.

"Fire her. She's got it the wrong way round. You're under stress right now, and your hand is perfectly steady. You're not haunted by the war, Dr. Watson...You miss it." Violet stood quickly as she felt the ropes leave her wrists, and she pulled the cloth from her mouth. "Time to choose a side, Dr. Watson," Mr. Holmes added as he walked away. Violet ran to John.

"Are you all right?" he asked immediately; carefully looking her over. She nodded vigorously, and hugged him. He didn't really return the embrace. She could forgive him of that though. She knew his mind was a bit preoccupied.

"I'm to take you home," a woman's voice said from nearby. John nodded to her, and gently pulled Violet off of him. "Address?"

"Er, Baker Street. 221B Baker Street. But I need to stop off somewhere first." They all got in the car, and rode in silence back to the building they were living in. Violet knew she would be made to stay behind. She accepted it though. She didn't like to make John worried.

**I am sooooooooo sorry. This took forever! I have just been soooo busy. I hope you like this. Please leave a review. Thanks for waiting. **


	6. Chapter 6

**I do not own anything except my OC.**

Chapter 6

Violet stared out the window of the cab she and John were in. She wished they could've walked. It was a windy day, and she loved the feeling of the wind passing over her. They passed familiar places, and the transfer into the more unfamiliar parts of the city made her excited. There were so many places to explore, so many sights to see. There was also a flatmate who solved crimes. She would finally meet the man who John had assisted in catching a serial killer. She couldn't help but smile at the thought, and she stole a quick glance at John. He hadn't been paying attention, but she was. He wasn't holding his cane. It was packed away in one of their few boxes. Hopefully, it would stay there.

"What are you thinking about?" John suddenly asked.

"I don't know," she replied with a shrug. "I guess I'm just wondering what it'll be like to live with the world's only consulting detective." John smirked.

"Trust me. It won't be much different for me. You're both too smart for your own good." A moment later, John told the cabbie to stop. Violet got her things from the back of the car. She had a suitcase and a box, and John had his own. Neither of them had many possessions. Violet had never been one to ask for much. One of the only things she asked for was books, and her box was full of them.

"Good morning," an old woman called from the doorway of the flat as the cab pulled away. Violet suddenly felt more at home. The woman, Mrs. Hudson as John called her, reminded her of Mrs. Johnson. Mrs. Hudson made them hurry inside so they wouldn't get cold in the wind. "I'm sorry dear," she said to Violet. "Your bed hasn't been brought over yet, but it should be here by tomorrow." Violet just nodded at her. Despite how enthusiastic and kind Mrs. Hudson was, she still felt a little shy.

Once Mrs. Hudson realized she didn't really have to help them unpack, she left them alone in their flat. Sherlock Holmes wasn't there though. There was only a note on the table that said, "Be back later, Mrs. Hudson. - SH"

"It's nice," Violet remarked as she gazed around the cluttered sitting room. John smiled and nodded. Then they went upstairs, and Violet went to her tiny bedroom to unpack. Mrs. Hudson had left a nightstand and a desk with a chair in the room, and there was a small closet in one corner of the room. Violet wasn't looking at those though. She was too focused on her window.

Sheer, white curtains had been hung on it, and when she opened the window they flapped around in the strong wind. Sighing contentedly, Violet started to remove her things from their box. At the bottom of the box she pulled out an old blue scarf. It had a hole or two in it, and the fabric was soft and worn. Her mother had been wearing it on the night she lost her, and John had managed to convince the police to give her the one thing she had asked for out of her mother's things.

Violet had never told John why she wanted the scarf though. It had been her father's before her mother had taken it. It was a piece of both of her parents, and even though she knew it was irrational, the scarf made her feel closer to them. She put it on the desk. She would have to wait till her bed came to put it under her pillow as she always did.

John meanwhile, was back down in the sitting room. He didn't want to seem nosy, but he glanced into the tops of some of Sherlock's remaining boxes. He was suddenly worried if he had made the right decision. Violet didn't know the man, and neither did he. Mrs. Hudson seemed nice enough, but she wasn't always home. As he pondered these things a voice greeted him from the door behind him.

"John," Sherlock greeted him with a grin. "Good to see you again. I was just collecting some information for a case." He paused, and held up a black bag. "Would you like to take a look?" he added as he set the bag on the tiny kitchen table, which was also covered with Sherlock's things.

"Let me get Violet," John said; disappearing from the room momentarily. Sherlock froze; his heart pounding. That had been his daughter's name. Panic gripped him, so he grabbed his coat and dashed out the door. He couldn't meet the little girl who shared his daughter's age and name. He knew he had met her before, but he wasn't ready to speak to her. He was walked quickly to find a cab, and went straight to St. Bart's. It was his safe haven; a place where he could distract himself in peace. He didn't have to think about anything therebut what he was doing.

John had returned to the kitchen with Violet, but Sherlock had vanished. His bag had been forgotten, and he was nowhere to be seen. Violet shrugged, and went back to her room. John stayed behind a little longer though; wondering why the detective would just leave before meeting someone. Eventually, he was able to shrug it off, and he went back to the sitting room. They would see Sherlock later. A bad feeling washed over him though. Something wasn't right, and John wouldn't rest till he found out what it was.

**I feel like that was a tad bit cliffy. Muahahahahaha! It was also a bit shorter, but that's ok with me. It could've been better though. Thanks for reading. Please leave a review. **


	7. Chapter 7

**I own nothing except my OC. **

Chapter 7

Violet spent the rest of the day in her room, and only left when John told her that Mrs. Hudson had made them dinner. The two of them went down to her flat to join her. They talked about everything imaginable, and Violet thought they would never finish. Finally, the twelve-year old volunteered to take the dishes to the kitchen sink. As she was going, she spotted a piano in Mrs. Hudson's sitting room. She stepped silently into the room, and let her fingers run gently over the keys of piano. Mrs. Johnson had taught her how to play when she was younger, and at twelve, she could play any piece of music put in front of her. She had some memorized, and liked to sing along.

"That was my cousin's," Mrs. Hudson said; startling her. "Oh, sorry dear. I didn't mean to give you a fright. Do you play the piano?" Violet smiled sheepishly and nodded. She wasn't quite sure how to talk to Mrs. Hudson. She had hardly said more than two words to the woman all day.

Finally gathering her courage, she replied,"I could play something for you if you want." Mrs. Hudson immediately took a seat, and seemed to be thrilled with anticipation. John entered the room as well, and pushed the door closed behind him. He smiled at her, and gave her a nod that indicated that she should play for their new landlady. Violet sat down on the piano bench. She played a few scales quickly without a word, and then she played one of her favorites. It was called "Send Me A Song," and she soon found herself singing along; her mind faraway in her old flat with Mrs. Johnson.

_Take the wave now and know that you're free,_

_Turn your back on the land face the sea,_

_Face the wind now so wild and so strong,_

_When you think of me,_

_Wave to me and send me a song._

_Don't look back when you reach the new shore,_

_Don't forget what you're leaving me for,_

_Don't forget when you're missing me so,_

_Love must never hold,_

_Never hold tight but let go._

_Oh the nights will be long,_

_When I'm not in your arms,_

_But I'll be in your song, That you sing to me, across the sea._

_Somehow, someday, you will be far away,_

_So far from me and maybe one day,_

_I will follow you,_

_And all you do,_

_'Til then, send me a song._

As she sang, Sherlock walked into the front door. No one heard him, but he heard her. He knew it was the little girl, but she had the singing voice of a woman. Her voice was clear, and it contained a soft tone in it that reminded him of ... Sherlock shook his head and went upstairs. He couldn't avoid the little girl forever, but he couldn't let her remind him of his late wife either.

_When the sun sets the water on fire,_

_When the wind swells the sails of your hire,_

_Let the call of the bird on the wind,_

_Calm your sadness and loneliness,_

_And then start to sing to me,_

_I will sing to you,_

_If you promise to send me a song._

_I walk by the shore and I hear,_

_Hear your song come so faint,_

_And so clear,_

_And I catch it, a breath on the wind,_

_And I smile and I sing you a song,_

_I will send you a song..._

_I will sing you a song,_

_I will sing to you..._

_If you promise to send me a song_

Violet put her hands in her lap to signal that she was finished, and Mrs. Hudson applauded her. "That was lovely dear," she remarked. "It's so nice to hear someone of your age so talented in music." Violet just nodded slightly in thanks for her praise. She didn't want the situation to get too awkward, so she told John she would meet him back upstairs. She could hear the sounds of items being shuffled around in the sitting room, and she found a tall, skinny man leaning over a box. His back was to her, but she could still see his dark curls falling this way and that as he moved.

"Mr. Holmes?" she inquired. The man stopped rummaging through his box, but did not turn to look at her.

"Please call me Sherlock," he answered quietly. Violet furrowed her brow in concentration. She had heard his voice before. She just couldn't pinpoint the time or place. "I am assuming you're Violet."

"You assume correct Mr... I mean, Sherlock." The name tasted foreign yet familiar on her tongue; as if maybe she had once known it. Sherlock meanwhile, straightened up in silence. She sounded like Michelle, and he didn't want to turn around. He wanted to pretend the voice was his wife's, and never have to look at the child. As they stood there though, she grew impatient with him."Aren't you going to turn around and introduce yourself properly?" she asked. Sherlock sighed. It would have to happen at some point. He turned around, and froze like a deer caught in headlights. He stared at her as her face changed from stoic, to confused, to nearly horrified as she looked at him. She knew he was her father. She knew his face. If she had seen him anywhere she would've known him.

Violet started to back away, and Sherlock started to move closer. She had his high sharp cheekbones, but her face still held the tenderness of Michelle's, and she had always had her mother's nose. It was still almost like looking into a mirror though because she resembled him so much. He was just about to speak again when she bolted down the stairs. He followed her quickly. "Violet, wait!" he called. "Stop!"

She kept running despite his pleas, and passed up John, who barely had time to register what was going on. She didn't stop. She yanked open the front door and disappeared down the first nearby alley she could find. It crossed through to another street, so she kept going until she wasn't sure where she was anymore. Then she let herself sit down against a building to catch her breath.

_It's not true! _Her mind seemed to be screaming at her. _That can't be him! _She knew he couldn't be her father, but his face and his voice said otherwise. She knew them too well, and she suddenly felt too close to him to think. Violet got to her feet and started running again.

**I know. This took a while. Sorry. I just got soooooo busy you have no idea. Anyway, I hoped you liked this once again a little bit cliffy chapter. Please leave a review.**


	8. Chapter 8

**Sorry this took a while, but I'm back. Please leave a review. I own nothing except my OC. **

Chapter 8

Sherlock's gaze went from right to left three times before he realized that his daughter had vanished into the cold night. He ran his shaking hand through his hair, and was just trying to catch his breath when Mrs. Hudson started yelling at him.

"What on earth did you do, Sherlock?" his landlady demanded as she joined him on the sidewalk. John pushed past them both, wearing his coat and carrying Violet's.

"It's too late, John," Sherlock said; staring at the ground. "She's gone." John glanced out into the street, and then back at Sherlock.

"What the hell happened?" he asked with anger in his voice. "What did you do?" Sherlock hesitated. He didn't want to tell his new flatmate that he had been raising his daughter, but it was the truth. It just wasn't possible though. His daughter had been dead for nine years. He looked past John's angry face as if in a trance.

"Impossible," he murmured. "She's dead."

"Sherlock, you're not making any sense," Mrs. Hudson said; her voice sounding almost frightened. John stepped in front of Sherlock.

"Who's dead?" he asked. Sherlock continued to stare vacantly. Then tears started to roll slowly down his cheeks.

"My daughter," he murmured; finally acknowledging that he had heard John. After another moment, John cursed quietly to himself, and began to pace.

"It's you!" he finally cried. "You're the bloody idiot we've been looking for!" He went back into the flat, infuriated, and Mrs. Hudson managed to coax Sherlock into going back inside soon after. They all knew it would be a long night.

Violet walked for a long time once she had gotten tired of running. She shivered and hugged herself. Normally, cold weather didn't bother her, but as she kept moving she felt like ice was running through her veins. Suddenly, she stopped. She felt stupid and childish for running from her emotions, but it was a hard habit to break since she had been doing it for so long.

She finally took in her surroundings. She wasn't familiar with the street, but she knew she could retrace her steps. There was no way she could avoid going back. She would never do that to John. With that thought in mind, Violet, feeling foolish, turned around and headed back to Baker St.

Meanwhile, John paced around the flat with Violet's phone in one hand and his other hand occupied with repeatedly running his fingers through his hair. He was filled with restlessness, and he didn't know what to think. Sherlock had composed himself, but he sat silent and still; staring at the lit fireplace. To John, the detective appeared small and defenseless, curled up in the chair the way he was. Eventually, he sighed and sat down in the chair across from him. John had not even opened his mouth when Sherlock started to speak.

"There was a fire," he whispered. "Nine years ago." Sherlock's words were barely audible, and John had to lean forward to hear what his flatmate was saying. "She...Violet, and her mother were trapped inside... I couldn't get to them in time. I-I couldn't save them..." He paused for a moment, and closed his eyes as if he were picturing the day in his mind. Then he swallowed hard, and continued. "I didn't know what to do. They were my whole life...They were the only two people I cared for in the world, and I lost them."

"What did you do?" John finally interrupted, and he suddenly felt his anger rising again. "When I found Violet her mother had just been murdered right in front of her. She was too young. She didn't understand why we couldn't find her father. Her picture was in the bloody papers! She was on television! How could you not have seen her?"

"Because I was running, John." Sherlock had raised his voice, but only to the point of normal volume. "I left the world behind me. I fled because I couldn't stand to be anywhere near other people. ... It wasn't until a year later that I finally went back to my parents. They hadn't seen me since I graduated from university. They don't know that I was married. No one does except you, and of course Mrs. Hudson because she's listening at the door." The sound of retreating footsteps confirmed what Sherlock had just said. John suddenly felt more connected to Sherlock. He had had to face the death of his parents at fourteen, and his alcoholic sister did not help matters. He knew what it was like to feel pain, and grief.

"I'm sorry," he murmured. Then they were both silent until Mrs. Hudson called up from downstairs that Violet had returned. Sherlock immediately tensed up. _What if she couldn't forgive him as easily as John had? What if she hated him? _He waited nervously as John rushed down the stairs.

When he got there, Mrs. Hudson was just closing the door to her flat. She flashed them a small smile as the door clicked shut, and Violet moved to John when it did. "Where is he?" she asked timidly. John gestured that he was upstairs, and then she embraced him.

"He told me everything," John whispered to her as he stroked her hair. "It'll be all right. You need to go up and see him though." Violet nodded, and started to ascend the stairs. After a few steps she froze.

"I...I still love you John," she murmured; turning to face him again.

"I know you do, sweetheart," he replied. He stepped up next to her, and lifted her chin so she would look at him. "And no matter what, I will always love you, and I will always be there for you." John gently cupped her cheek and wiped away the first of her tears. "Now go and see him," he said quietly. "I'll be down here with Mrs. Hudson." Violet faced the stairs above her again, took a deep breath, and went up to the sitting room.

She found Sherlock curled up in his chair beside the fire, but as soon as he noticed her he was on his feet. He took her in for a moment; worry filling his head. Then he stepped toward her in awe. He suddenly forgot the room around him. All that mattered was that his baby girl was standing before him, alive and well. He hesitantly reached out his shaking hand, and rested it on her cheek the way John had done not a moment before. There were tears welling up in his eyes, and Violet could tell that he was desperately trying not to let them fall.

"Why didn't you come for me?" she finally whispered. Her father's hand dropped slowly. "She said you would come." Her voice became thick, and she let her tears fall instead of holding them back like him. "Mum told me that you would find me. _Why didn't you?_" Sherlock didn't make a sound. He was too frightened by the anger he heard in her words.

"I used to cry for you...all the time. And John would tell me that they were trying so hard to find you. He wasn't lying, but I knew after a while that no one would find you. And I knew that my sorrow was only hurting John, so I stopped. I gave up. I didn't want to think about you anymore because when I do it hurts so much." Violet turned away from him to catch her breath. "And now, it turns out you were right here in London...and..." Violet's words died before even forming on her tongue. She didn't know what she could say to express how she felt.

Sherlock moved in front of her, and wrapped his arms around her. "You were dead," he said. "In a way, we both were. ...That's why I never saw you." Violet slowly wound her arms around his middle as acceptance filled her.

"I guess we're both to blame then," she mumbled. "You were hiding, and I gave up searching." Sherlock nodded, and they just held each other; neither one aware of John and Mrs. Hudson silently observing them behind the partially closed door. John smiled as he gently pushed the door closed.

"I finally did it," he murmured to Mrs. Hudson as they went back down to her flat. "I got her the father she always wanted."

"But you already did that, dear," the landlady replied as she entered her sitting room. John let another smile pass over his face. He couldn't really find a way to disagree with her.

**I apologize wholeheartedly for this terribly long wait, and this just awful chapter! I am so sorry. This story will get much better. I promise! Please leave a review! Thanks. Hopefully, I won't be too busy to post a new chapter soon. **


	9. Chapter 9

**I own nothing except my OC. Please leave a review.**

Chapter 9

"Why do you insist on walking everywhere?" John asked in exasperation as he and Violet went shopping. They had been living at Baker St. for a few weeks, and a system had been formed in that time: John was in charge of the shopping. He didn't usually take Violet with him though. He wanted her to be at home with her father. They were still having trouble getting used to each other. John watched her as she walked on ahead of him. The only person who knew she was Sherlock's daughter besides himself and Mrs. Hudson was Molly Hooper, who had done a DNA test to be sure. She had taken the situation fairly well, and didn't ask too many questions. John was grateful for that. Violet was uncomfortable when questioned about anything.

"What did you say, John?" Violet called over her shoulder as she stopped walking.

"I said 'why do you insist on walking everywhere?'" Violet shrugged.

"I don't know. All I know is that I have been cooped up indoors for _way _too long." She gestured dramatically as she spoke, and John rolled his eyes at her.

"Always a drama queen," John muttered in response as they entered the shop they had been heading to. Between the two of them, the shopping was done quickly, and Violet was soon standing by John as they tried to pay for their items. Of course everything that could go wrong had to, and John eventually got fed up and left the store; the giggling twelve-year old trailing behind him. "It isn't funny," he insisted as they walked back home, but Violet kept her smile plastered on her face all the way to the flat.

When they arrived, Violet fell face-first onto the sofa. Then she kicked off her shoes; earning a sort of glare from Sherlock because she had left them so haphazardly on the floor. He didn't keep the flat tidy, but he did make sure clothing wasn't just left laying around. "You took your time," he said to John; turning his attention back to the book he was pretending to read.

"Yeah, I didn't get the shopping," John replied. Sherlock suddenly looked up.

"What? Why not?" Violet shifted on the sofa so she could speak.

"He had a row in the shop with a chip and PIN machine," she stated nonchalantly.

"You..." Sherlock started. "You had a row with a machine?"

"Sort of. It sat there and I shouted abuse. Have you got cash?" The detective grinned in an almost mocking way.

"Take my card." As John went to get the card, Sherlock pushed a sword under his chair with his foot. Violet could see the movement. She just couldn't see what he had moved to hide.

"Are you coming, Violet?" John asked as he walked past. By way of response she lifted her hand and waved. John sighed and shook his head as he walked out the door.

As soon as John was gone again, Violet rolled over with a groan and hung upside-down off the side of the sofa. She watched her father as he sat casually in his chair with a book. It was hard for her to see the man as her father, but DNA tests didn't lie. His friend, Molly Hooper, had seen to that. She stared at him some more; wondering what her mother could've possibly seen in him.

Then, a grin spread wide on her face. She had seen what John hadn't noticed under the chair. She sat up and turned around to face him. "So where did the sword come from?" she asked with a tone of mischief in her voice. Sherlock didn't bother to look up, and that disappointed her. He was different from John. She could impress him with ease, but her father was too much like her to be surprised by the things she noticed.

Finally, he closed the book and leaned forward in his chair. He picked up the sword as he spoke to her. "All right then. Tell me how I got it," he challenged. Violet marched over, and took the blade from him with determination. She studied it for a moment, then looked back at him with a raised eyebrow. He raised one back, and Violet walked around the room; observing the sword carefully. Sherlock studied her as she did her studying. He observed the curious and thoughtful look in her eyes as her fingers traced along the blade nimbly and cautiously. Then he watched her as she glanced around the room; eyes darting till they finally rested on the mark on the table. She hurried over to get a closer look, and then she finally turned back to face him.

"Do assassins come here often?" she asked sarcastically. It took all of Sherlock's will power not to smile.

"Only when the weather's nice," he replied. She handed it back to him, and he pushed it back under the chair and took John's laptop to the nearby desk.

"That's John's," Violet stated; her voice sounding a bit defensive.

"Yes." Sherlock stared at the screen for a moment.

"Why don't you just use your own?" she asked as he typed in his first attempt at the password. It was wrong, but he wouldn't be discouraged. He suddenly felt that he had an audience to please, and a very judgemental one at that.

"Bedroom," he replied as he tried another password. It was correct, and he leaned back in his chair smugly as he waited for the computer to load. Just as the icons started to appear on the screen, the laptop was slammed shut, and he looked up at Violet's suddenly upset face.

"John doesn't like it when people mess with his stuff," she said sternly. "He always gets upset when I do it, and I'm sure he'll make no exception for you." Sherlock gazed at her in silence for a moment. She was just like him. She was stubborn and clever. She was also like John though. She had the same moral principle, and had a great sense for what was right and wrong. Sherlock had noticed it in the short time she and John had been living with him. It was little instances that he noticed, but combined together they provided enough evidence to conclude her morality. Sherlock blinked a few times, and realized Violet wasn't in the room anymore.

When she walked back in, she had his open laptop in her hands, and she set it down on the desk in front of him, unlocked. She smirked with pride at having been able to mimic his trick, and she stood behind him as he checked his emails. When John returned, they were both reading the most recent one, and John smiled at the two of them. It made him feel good to see them starting to get along, and he didn't say a word to interrupt until he had put away the shopping.

**So sorry. This took awhile. Sorry it's also not very good. You see, this chapter was written, but before I could upload it, it somehow decided "I'm going to delete myself! Mwuahahahahaha!" So yeah, I had to do some rewriting and editing. I should have the next one up soon, but I am not going to write this whole episode (just saying). Anyway, hope you like this at least a little bit. Thanks for reading. Please leave a review.**


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